


nightmare

by mikechampa



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blood As Lube, Blood and Gore, Camp Crystal Lake, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emetophobia, Entrail Fucking, I'm Sorry, M/M, Minor Character Death, no beta we post our first drafts like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikechampa/pseuds/mikechampa
Summary: Harry thought it'd be a great idea; get out of the city for just one weekend, go to Camp Crystal Lake. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Peter Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday andrew, i hope this is worth getting waterboarded over, lmao  
> i really don't know a whole lot about either of these series so i hope this isn't like, wildly out of character adskjasd i did my best.  
> for anyone else, i'm sorry for what you're about to read.

Camp Crystal Lake had a reputation. A reputation steeped in rumor and intrigue, but a reputation nonetheless. Harry Osborn was the first to suggest the weekend vacation, as a way to relieve some of the stress of New York living, and the stress of being a budding superhero. Peter Parker, and his other best friend, Mary Jane Watson, on the other hand, were skeptical at best.

“So you’re saying it was one of the _cooks_ that went off the deep end? I thought it was common knowledge that it was her _son_ that killed all those people?” Peter was saying as the three of them lounged in his bedroom one Thursday afternoon.

“I mean, I heard it online, so you know you can only trust it as far as you can throw it.”

“You mean you didn’t even _fact check_ it?” Asked MJ incredulously.

“What’s to fact check? Even if someone did go batshit crazy and kill a bunch of people it’s not like the place is _haunted_ or anything, that’d be ridiculous. Ghosts aren’t even real.” Harry retorted, nudging her foot off the corner of Peter’s bed from where he lay, sprawled among the blankets.

“Are you both forgetting the part where, like, so much crime is going to happen if I leave this city for 24 hours, let alone an entire weekend? So. Much. Crime.” Peter punctuated his words with a pound to the palm of his hand.

“Dude,” Harry protested, “Do you know how much crime happened _before_ you were Spider-Man? I think Queens will be alright if you take a break. I’m sure you have, like, someone on-call for shit like this. It’s _one_ weekend. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Man, c’mon. You’re the one who wants to go so bad, don’t just jinx it for me like that.” Peter countered. “Though I suppose Wade does owe me one. I could see if he’s in town.”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit, alright!” Harry pumped a celebratory fist in the air, while MJ simply shook her head and chuckled lightly at the two boys’ banter.

“Well Harry, just letting you know, if we get horribly axe murdered over the weekend, I don’t have any more sick days, so I can’t call in dead,” the redhead laughed, to Harry’s dismay.

“Nobody’s gonna die, we’re just going on a fun, family friendly camping trip, you don’t have to make it sound so morbid.”

But of course, isn’t that how it always goes?

x

It was Sunday afternoon. Mere hours before the trio was set to return from the quaint New Jersey campsite back to their home in Queens, New York. Heavy sheets of rain fell from the sky, throwing itself to the ground in buckets, turning the hard-packed dirt of the campground trails into pools of mud. Blinding flashes of light and accompanying claps of thunder ricocheted back and forth between the trees and foliage, echoing throughout the forest.

At this point, Peter was convinced that he was the last survivor. MJ was nowhere to be found, and Harry, goddamned Harry goddamned Osborn, his best friend, had bled out in his arms. Even if Peter were to get out of this situation now, his chances of making it out of here alive were incredibly slim. He needed to assess the situation, and it wouldn’t be possible while he was still being chased by a mask-wearing psychopath.

He. Needed. To. Think.

He was Spider-Man, for god’s sake. Not a very good friendly neighborhood hero if he couldn’t even get out of this in one piece. Catching his breath, Peter shook out his hands in an attempt to calm himself. He gave himself a once-over to make sure that he was still in one piece. Horrified, he realized that, while he was indeed whole, he was covered with Harry’s blood, sticky and red and definitely not ever coming out of his clothes. In his panicked state, he quickly shucked off his shirt, ridding himself of most of the blood, but exposing himself to the elements outside, and most of all, the killer he knew was still out there, waiting for him to make his next move. Peter shuddered, visions of what happened to his best friend, his friend that he would never hear laugh again, would never see smile again. That brute of a man, slicing through Harry’s fragile skin and bones like it was _nothing_ , hardly anything more than a sheet of paper.

x

_Harry’d somehow found Peter’s hiding spot, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he crawled, painfully, agonizingly, towards his best friend, the thing he’d last see in this world. Peter had scooped him up as gently as he could, cradling his head in his hands, as they pressed their foreheads together, a smear of blood leaving its traces behind on Peter’s._

_“Peter, I…..” Harry tried to gasp out, but Peter, his eyes full of tears, squeezed his hand._

_“Harry, you don’t need to say anything. Save your strength, we’ll……we’ll get out of here somehow.” Harry shook his head, with what seemed like the last of any semblance of strength he could have had._

_“No, Peter, listen,” he broke off, his laborious breaths rattling as he tried to finish his thought before losing consciousness entirely._

_“You have to…..save MJ….and get out of here. Don’t,” coughs punctuating his sentences, a hand reaching up to grasp at the collar of Peter’s shirt, “Don’t let me fucking die for nothing.” Peter desperately tried to do anything he could; his jacket he used to try and staunch the bleeding, webs from his hands he used to try and keep Harry’s internal organs, well, internal._

_Nothing was working, nothing was working, nothing was **working, nothing was--**_

x

It was then that he heard it. Footsteps outside his hiding place, followed by the stench of death itself. Peter gagged, and pressed his hand to his mouth. Even though he hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, he upturned everything inside his stomach onto the floor, with a horrible retching sound. Scrambling back against the wall, making himself as small as possible, the brunette took in everything, the rapid staccato of his heartbeat the only other sound in the room.

He was absolutely, royally _fucked_.

Jason, on the other hand, was just getting started. He exited the cabin he’d just finished inspecting for any sign of the last remaining camper. With his free hand, he gripped the door frame as he stepped out into the thunderstorm wracking the campground. His occupied hand, however, was wrapped around the ankle of the redheaded girl he’d seen with his true target, the one with the superpowers. They’d called him Parker. Peter Parker.

Saturday had seen the trio taking turns with Parker out on the lake. Jason, slightly off into the distance, watched them, unmoving, unbeknownst to Harry, Peter, or MJ. The old rope swing had rotted out years ago, so in lieu of that, Parker had swung each of them up and into the center of the cordoned-off swimming area, letting go at the peak of the swing, essentially tossing his friends into the water.

The thought of the three young adults, having fun, simply existing, swimming in the water, absolutely enraged Jason, spurring on his already murderous intent. He wheezed, yanking on the girl’s ankle as an article of her clothing became snagged on the wooden splinters of the cabin.

The rain slapped against the slats of the cabin as Jason trudged out onto the path and the head of the girl he was dragging sloughed through the mud uselessly. He’d already caved in part of her ribcage, so it was doubtful she was even still alive at this point, but if that were the case, it certainly wouldn’t be for long. Blood caked in the ginger-red curls of hair weaved and tracked behind them in their wake as Jason continued his search for the last remaining camper.

Coming across the final cabin, he knew this would be it. He tossed the limp form of the girl away as she crumpled to the side, and began toward the door. Even if Peter had locked it, it would have only been for naught as the brooding hulk of a man tore the rotted wood off its hinges with barely a second thought. Another flash of light lit up the late-afternoon sky, much closer than any of the previous strikes of lightning. The resonating thunderclap rattled the windows of the final cabin, shaking the thin panes of glass within their frames, yet not quite so hard for them to fracture. This was it, the other man was in this building.

As soon as Peter heard the killer begin to literally peel the door off its hinges, he knew he had to act fast. With a quick web shot, he pulled himself up to the crest of the A-frame cabin’s ceiling, hoping that from this vantage point he could somehow escape the clutches of the masked man. Gently, so gently, he padded across the ceiling on the tips of his fingers and toes, so as not to accidentally cause one of the old planks to creak and alert the killer to his presence. If he was closer to the door, he thought, it would be that much easier to escape once he thought he had the chance or the opportunity.

“I’ve got only one shot at this,” he thought to himself, taking in a breath deep enough to calm him down minutely, but again, not enough to catch the attention of the man breaking into the room beneath him. At that point, Jason burst into the cabin’s living area, breathing heavily and wheezing with every labored breath. The hand not gripping his machete wiped the sweat from his brow from exerting himself. Beneath the mask concealing his garish features, his eyes darted around the room and his nostrils flared, trying to sense any sign of the brunette, Parker. He caught whiff of something like blood, and followed it, leading him to Peter’s discarded, bloodstained clothing. Peter, however, saw this as his chance to escape.

The open, bent door frame was literally calling his name, and he crept ever so slowly towards it as he watched the masked man amble over to where his shirt lay tossed to the side, a reminder of how Harry was lost. Thinking about it again brought along a whole new wave of nausea, and Peter had to clench his teeth shut to keep the bile inside his mouth. Forcibly swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing, he continued on his path towards freedom. As luck would have it, though, the closer he got, the more careless he became with his foot and hand placements, and one errant footstep caused a creak that forced Peter’s entire body to tense and freeze up.

_Fuck._

Hoping and praying that the killer wouldn’t notice or pass it off as from the howling and blowing of the wind from the storm outside, Peter held fast, his heart beating easily a billion times per second, so quickly he could practically see it beating out of his exposed chest. Jason, however, who was still inspecting the damaged articles of clothing almost didn’t notice. Almost. He cocked his head to one side, as if to better hear from the direction the sound was coming from. Was it his imagination, or did he hear a gasped intake of breath? He turned his head sharply towards the ceiling…but there was nothing there. Simply his imagination, he thought, turning again to continue rummaging his way around the cabin, upturning every piece of furniture in search of Peter Parker.

Peter, on the other hand, had managed to quickly zip from the side of the ceiling he was on, to the other--away from the killer’s murderous glance, and away from the door, away from freedom. He began his slow crawl once again, determined to make it out alive. Slowly and surely, avoiding the absolute mass of the man below him, he edged his way back across, down the wall when he thought he had a chance, and to his own surprise, while the other wasn’t looking, he was able to slip out the door, only to be met…with the discarded corpse of his other best friend, Mary Jane Watson.

Unable to move, unable to do anything, Peter let out an anguished wail, and dropped to his knees beside his once-girlfriend, her lifeless eyes peering back at him. Somehow, he was able to reach a hand out to close her eyes, letting her body have that last touch of respect, though whether it was Peter’s tears or the rain that dripped onto the redhead’s cheeks remained a mystery, though not one that would ever be solved.

Jason, having heard the commotion outside, lumbered his way out the door, noticed what was happening, and let out a roar, beginning his chase of the last surviving camper; as soon as this one’s life was snuffed out, he could go back to living as he had before, peacefully and quietly. His one and only wish. Catching a glimpse of Parker wailing over the one he’d tossed aside, brandishing his machete, Jason ambled over, his height towering over the kneeling brunette, slumped over the woman’s body. With his free hand, he reached forward and grasped a handful of silky, brown hair, and _yanked_ , Peter’s lithe frame easily coming off the ground as he did so.

Unceremoniously, as the boy reached out with a hand to web away to a tree, Jason’s knife barely dug in and pierced his exposed flesh, tearing and ripping as he sailed away, the attempted escape making the wound more and more worse than it would’ve been, had he not attempted to get away. But he did, screaming--a guttural sound that stirred Jason to the core, spurring him and his chase on more than it ever had before.

Peter howled in pain, but continued to web away through the trees, one hand pressed against his badly oozing wound, his eyesight slowly fading, the tears blinding him and the tunnel vision he was experiencing heavily closing in on him, making it harder and harder to predict where his one-handed webs would land, and to calculate the trajectory of his jumps. Soon, maybe 3 or 4 swings later, it proved to be too much, and he landed with a thud against the trunk of a large oak tree. Without even looking down, he could tell that this wound was monumentally worse than Harry’s. The adrenaline started kicking in, however, and he was able to at least look down and assess how bad it really was, and to his horror, he could physically _see_ his intestines, slowly unraveling and spilling out onto his pants.

Panicking, the bile rose through his throat yet again, and this time he couldn’t do anything to stop it, he violently retched, splattering the ground next to him. All he could do, could _think_ to do, was to frantically use his webbings to patch himself up, his body going numb to the things he was trying to do, as he did his best to shove his intestines back inside himself, applying web after web to his destroyed skin, hoping that it would somehow last until he got help, that there was somehow help to _get_ , that there was a chance in hell in this fucked up world that he could go back home to Aunt May, to continue being Spider-Man, to get used to living in a world without his two best friends. His thoughts were spiraling so intensely that he failed to see the large shadow encompassing his body, failed to see that the killer was standing directly in front of him, breathing heavily, a feral look in the eyes hidden behind that hockey mask.

Jason inhaled deeply, the heady scent of blood wafted from Parker’s oozing wound directly into his nostrils. The hulking man drooled a little as he saw what lay before him. The boy was practically unconscious, his abdomen covered in that sticky web-like substance he saw earlier. Jason could tell, however, that it would only hold for so long. Just long enough, perhaps, to satisfy his needs. The hulking mass of a man took his machete and, to hold Peter in place, jammed it forcefully in between his clavicle and shoulder muscles. The boy beneath him screamed in pain once again, louder now that they were so close together.

“What do you _want_ from me?!” Parker screamed, tears flowing freely, streaking down his dirty, yet angelic features. “Was killing and torturing my fucking _friends_ not enough, you sick fuck?! What else can you take from me?!” The brunette wailed and tried to break free, but simply didn’t have the energy anymore. It was futile, and Jason knew it.

He wheezed with arousal, his dick beginning to take interest in Parker’s weak efforts of getting away. He put one dirt encrusted hand on Parker’s soft planes of skin, one caked fingernail scraping against a pink nipple. Peter’s body convulsed involuntarily, arching towards the touch. The tiniest whimper escaped him, spurring Jason on even more, his hand inching ever higher to clamp down around the brunette’s neck--not enough to completely close off his airways, just enough to add that extra note of panic, his dick twitching in his pants as Peter became desperate for air, one hand clawing at Jason’s meaty arm. Jason grunted, his hips slowly beginning to cant against Peter’s still clothed leg. With his free hand, the larger male slowly dragged the other’s jeans down, harshly exposing the last parts of Peter that were covered up. His free hand roved over Peter’s ass, cupping one cheek with the mass of his hand.

The boy underneath him moaned, more with pain than pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head, as his bottom was fondled, thick fingers pulling him apart at the seams, in more ways than one. The wound in his side started splitting apart again, oozing blood through the protective webbing. Jason took note of this, and ran two of his fingers through it, bringing them to the holes in his mask for a whiff, before bringing them down to Peter’s hole, rubbing the tight circle before breaching his hole, using the blood from his wound to lubricate the intrusion.

Pinned in place and too weak to fight back, all Peter could do was recoil away as much as possible, though it just gave Jason better access to continue what he was doing; he removed his finger and lifted the mask just slightly to spit into his hand, using the extra lubrication to add a second finger, pushing inside, his other hand squeezing just slightly around Peter’s neck, heightening the sensation of being stretched open, Parker’s mouth falling slack into an ‘O,’ as the prodding fingers brushed against his prostate, the words begging the killer to stop never reaching open air, the thoughts almost getting choked out of his head entirely; he was completely, utterly at the larger man’s mercy, and all he could do was submit, his legs falling open loosely at Jason’s sides.

For a moment, just to relieve some of the tension in his jeans, Jason palmed himself, his head falling back against his shoulders. He couldn’t take it anymore. He struggled one-handed to open his dirtied, blood-splattered slacks, to take himself in his hand with a couple strokes, a low, guttural moan escaping himself, to the horror of the brunette below him, as if Peter finally realized with the last vestiges of consciousness what was about to happen to him. Drooling even more than he had been before, the masked man pulled Parker closer to him, lining himself up as his dick brutally slammed inside Parker's barely-stretched hole, his balls slapping against the other’s hips once he was fully seated to the hilt. Peter cried freely beneath him, but it didn't deter the larger man at all.

He picked up his pace, practically growling as he did so, more animal than man as he rutted into Parker’s warmth. Peter, for all it was worth, writhed back and forth as much as his position would allow. The boy was hardly aware of what was going on, and yet he found that his body was reacting, that it was somehow starting to feel _good_ , the way this larger man was splitting him in half in a different way, that it was somehow blocking out all of the pain of the situation, that all he wanted was this cock to keep plundering his insides, to turn him inside out, that this could be the last thing he ever felt and that he almost _wanted_ that. Anything was better than going back to the pain that he felt before, and if this was his punishment somehow, then so be it.

“Mmhh, _oh_ ,” he heard himself saying, “Harder…” The masked man obliged, somehow plowing into him even more ferociously than before, Peter’s wanton moaning eclipsing even the slapping of their hips together. However, after a few more laborious thrusts, it became clearer that this would not be enough to satisfy the larger man. As they fucked, the webbing that encased Peter’s intestines became more and more unraveled, until the open wound was nearly noticeable again, and with it came a new idea for Jason. Since his machete was busy holding Peter down, he reached up and grabbed the smudged glasses off Peter’s face and crushed them in his meaty grip, a chunk of glass the perfect size to take in his palm and slice through the remaining webbing, perfectly exposing the seeping wound.

With a loud squelching sound, he pulled his massive cock out of Peter’s hole, and instead moved to straddle higher on his hips, positioning the head of his cock into the most exposed area of the wound, before slowly thrusting inside, any lingering throes of pleasure for Parker immediately negated as he screamed louder than he had yet, as his organs were thoroughly plowed. The power of his screams died off tremendously though, however, into not more than choked wheezing, as the hand around his throat closed off his airways once again, and his eyes bugged out in his head as Jason’s cock made its home in his lower intestines. As they spilled out of Parker and onto the ground, the masked man unfurled a strand long enough to reach up around the neck of the man underneath him, and instead used Peter's own _intestines_ to choke him.

It was then that Parker finally passed out, going utterly limp which allowed the larger man to fully take control of the smaller’s body, using both hands to steady himself as he fucked ruthlessly into the hole in Parker’s abdomen, viscera spilling out around them, tainting the ground beneath a dark, dark, red. His thrusts quickened in pace and the slap of his balls against Parker’s side became the only sound echoing as the rain slowly began to stop, Jason’s thrusts became more and more erratic as he fucked deeper and deeper into the wound he’d created, drool and sweat mixing and trailing down the thick expanse of his neck, slipping beneath the collar of the ripped shirt he was still wearing.

His pleasure continued to crest, until, with one final thrust, he spilled his seed in between the slippery entrails, coating them in a layer of cum before pulling out and sitting back on his knees, gently tucking his length back into his pants. Parker lay prone beneath him, his eyes glazed over as those of one whose life had left and passed on, and if Jason had checked, he would know that there was no longer a pulse, but he was already gone, off to continue living his quiet life in the woods of Camp Crystal Lake, defending his land from those who would intrude on them.

And somewhere, about 100 miles north of Crystal Lake, New Jersey, Peter Parker awoke with a cold sweat, from the most realistic nightmare he’d ever had in his life, with cum cooling in his pajama pants.

It had all been a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> at least it wasn't woody this time, amirite?  
> follow me on [tumblr](http://mikechampa.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/vadereloha) to see more terrible everything.


End file.
